


Roundoff, Half-Twist

by drew



Category: Bring It On (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-18
Updated: 2006-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drew/pseuds/drew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after nationals, and what Les found there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roundoff, Half-Twist

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader, KJK!
> 
> Written for bexless

 

 

"And the best thing is, some of these squads don't have guys on 'em!"

"Jan."

"Oh, hey, sorry; yeah, I guess that kind of sucks for you. But just think of all the spankies I can collect this weekend now that the competition is over..."

"What, Courtney holding out on you?"

"Harsh much? Cool it, Les. You're just jealous that I happen to be surrounded by the objects of my affection and you're relegated to Estrogen City with nothing even resembling a Y chromosome in sight."

"Whatever. Break a leg."

"Hopefully my third one!" Jan winks and turns away, sliding in behind a group of girls with an effortless "hey, ladies..." and a vaguely dirty grin.

"So, hey, um, Les, was it?" Les hears from behind him, and turns to see that blond guy... uh. Tim! Tim, yes. From before. Before, when Les was hopped up on adrenaline and thought he could take on anything, including pretty cheer boys. At the moment, he isn't so sure.

"Yeah, um. Hey, again. Tim, right?" Tim's face lights up and Les can't tell whether or not he's made a tactical error. Does remembering the guy's name after one introduction makes you seem more desperate or more personable? He's not sure. "What's up?"

Tim's smile turns up, shy, at the corner, and Les feels the butterflies from earlier returning. "You wouldn't, um. Maybe. They've got this movie playing tonight, d'you want to...?"

"Go? With you?" Smooth move, *Leslie*.

"Or, uh," Tim's eyes are wider now, scared he's hit on one of those assholes of the cheer hierarchy: the straight male cheerleader. "I could ask my squa--"

Intervention time. "No, no, that sounds like fun. Just us." Les offers him a smile and sees Tim relax, the lines on his forehead fading and the muscles in his shoulders relaxing. The very very present muscles in his shoulders. "Just us," Les repeats.

Tim fidgets. "I'm actually, uh, free now, if you..."

"Your room or mine?" Les asks, voice low.

"I've got a single."

Tim is a really bad kisser. He's really, really earnest, which practically comes with the territory when you're a cheerleader, but his technique is abysmal. So Les doesn't feel too bad leaving Tim to catch his flight home after only second base. He's got a great body and the most gorgeous smile, but if you can't manage your lips, Les rationalizes, you probably can't manage the rest.

* * *

Moving into the dorms early, Les was told, is one of the perks to being a recruited student-athlete. Which explains why he's one of about three people wandering the campus of his new school in mid-August, when even the rest of his teammates won't show up for another couple weeks, and the rest of the freshmen a week after that. Some perk. He tries to ignore the blazing pride his school-logo t-shirt emits and mentally scowls at the necessity of newbie pictures. They're going to do a full team picture when everybody else gets here, anyway; why bother with this one now? The cheerleading squad here hasn't been nationally ranked in two decades and Les is starting to wonder about that whole spiel the recruiter gave him, about it being better to join an unranked squad and build it up to number one -- that the Cinderella story would be the way to cement his place in history. Right now he's just wishing for something, or someone, that would make him feel like this squad has anything more than the winning odds of Rancho Carne's football team.

Famous last words.

He enters the student union and hunts for a bathroom -- tryouts and the all-squad meeting aren't until tomorrow, and orientation for freshman athletes the day after that -- before finding one off the main lounge. What he's not prepared for is the blond emerging from the men's room, chest emblazoned with the same university logo.

"Les?"

"Tim! Hi!" He tries to inject enough smarm and fake perkiness into his voice to convince Tim that everything's normal and they may now be classmates, but that doesn't mean anything, certainly not that they're going to hook up again, and boy, isn't it great that we're in college and now teammates? Either Tim's too confused, or Les is out of practice -- persuading Jan, after all, requires only a little more effort than third-grade math homework. Either way, Tim goes right for the cliche:

"What are..."

"Can you ask a different question?"

Tim blinks. "I'm sorry; what?"

"It's just, 'what are you doing here?' is so done -- you can see my complimentary t-shirt practically giving off 'I go here' rays, so go ahead and ask the next question." Les pauses, which in no way has anything to do with him checking out Tim's chest. Not at all. "Or am I supposed to ask you what you're doing here?"

"Maybe? I'm not sure how the script goes after that."

"Improvise," and holy crap, does he really want to be flirting with an ex-hookup while he's got a pressing need to relieve the mounting pressure in his bladder? Even if that hookup has a really great body?

But flirt he does, and as if that isn't bad enough, Les ends up extricating himself from the situation, finally allowing himself his trip to the bathroom, only after agreeing to dinner. He's now pretty sure that he sucks at getting things across nonverbally. And that man is ruled by his bladder. Of course, since they're probably on the same squad -- what else would he be here for, right? -- Les is going to have to deal with him regularly anyway. And try hard to ignore the fact that Tim is kind of gorgeous.

* * *

They're totally not dating, no matter what his roommate says. Just because they're always coming back from practice together and Tim sometimes spends the night and Les sometimes has to lock his roommate out. Not dating. His roommate gives him a completely incredulous look, but doesn't say anything more. Surprising, really, because the guy's a legacy and a debater (and yeah, Les got some mileage out of "master debater"), with an opinion on just about everything.

So maybe they fuck around and Les now acually buys condoms instead of stealing them from the health center. Maybe they've been fucking around for three months and maybe Les has been not-so-subtly teaching Tim how not to be an awful kisser and maybe, just maybe, Tim's sloppy mouth technique is much better suited to blowjobs. And maybe Tim's really loud when he's being fucked, and maybe Tim's dick makes Les see spots when it's all the way in him. Maybe. But they're definitely not dating.

They might be fucking, though.

* * *

Les is Head Base, which sounds like whatever third base should be for gay guys ("French, feel, finger, fuck" just doesn't work as well when there's two guys involved; Les thinks it should be something like "kiss, handjob, blowjob, fuck," but that lacks a certain something). He hadn't been expecting it, though: squad leadership is usually reserved for juniors and seniors. With the quality of bases and guys in general in the upper classes, though, Les understands why he was recruited so heavily: no other guy, not even Nationals-going Tim, is AACCA-certified as a spotter or base trainer. Putting in four extra hours a week training others kind of puts a damper on his studying time, but at least he's getting recognition for working his ass off.

"Lift with your legs, Tim."

"Bite me," Tim grunts out, both hands wrapped around Davis's foot and ankle, hoisting him in the air.

"You lift with your back and you'll be lucky to get one season."

"Did just fine through high school."

"I saw the girls on that squad, all of ninety pounds soaking wet..."

"Think I can't handle it?"

"Not if you keep putting your back into lifts."

"Yeah, well fuck you."

"Been there, done that."

A palpable silence descends over the gym, and Les remembers cardinal rule #1 of being a male cheerleader: never admit you're gay. Les's interal moron-o-meter is registering somewhere between "open mouth; insert foot" and "oh no he didn't!" and his only safe reaction is to end the practice, so that's what he does.

* * *

Two hours and half the campus later, he can predict the exact words out of Tim's mouth: "What the fuck was that?"

"Jesus, calm down."

"You broke rule number one. You can't do that!"

Les folds his arms across his chest. "What exactly are you so scared of?"

"You just... you can't break rule one! It's like dropping the spirit stick!"

"And my captain did that last year and nothing bad happened. I mean, we kind of came in second after winning four straight years, and one of the girls twisted her neck or something, and it turned out our old captain was stealing routines from the team that went on to become national champs, but you don't believe in that crap, do you?" It's not their first argument, and unless Tim gets way bent out of shape about it, Les thinks it's not likely to be their last.

His roommate still gives him that weird look when Les says they're not dating. This time, he goes so far as to say, "Fine, you're not dating; you're married. Happy?" Les thinks this might have to do with their arguments, but he's not sure. Instead, he just arranges to have his roommate get crappy seats at the next football game.

* * *

The team doesn't make nationals. Hell, they barely make regionals, and that's with everybody performing at their personal best. But Les knows it's three or four steps higher than their coach had been expecting, and it's always nice to be pleasantly surprised, much like Jan's accidental slippage did for Courtney. At least they've got a benchmark to work past for next year. And he knows Coach is recruiting again, so hopefully he won't be the only star in the base lineup. The could use some real tumblers, too, and maybe some small girls for fliers -- but naturally small girls, because with anorexics you run the risk of them breaking when they hit the ground, even worse than Carver did.

There are still a few basketball games left to cheer for, since the team's ranked pretty high in the NCAA tournament, but everything relaxes after regionals. Les finds himself thinking more and more about going home for spring break and seeing everyone, telling them about the shit season he's had and trying to whip a newbie team into shape. But every time he does, he thinks about Tim, who's kind of moved in with him, leaving Les's roommate to fend for himself in the wilds of the housing draw. It would suck to leave Tim here alone. And yeah, they're totally dating, which means Les can't bring him with -- introducing him to all the old crew would break rule one. Not that he particularly cares about that, but it keeps Tim happy.

Ahh, well, Les thinks, as he leans in for a nearly-perfect kiss, it's not like he won't have a good time at school over break. After all, there's still most of a box of condoms in his nightstand and as Tim's shown, practice does make perfect. They may be dating, but they can still be fucking, too.

 


End file.
